


Red Shades, Black Romance

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Oral Sex, Quadrant Confusion, Xeno, mentions of slight internalized misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As rad as your red shades are, you wish you weren’t wearing them right now. You let Porrim strip everything else off you, but you never let her take your glasses. This isn’t the first time you’ve regretted it, but it’s no biggie. And obviously there’s no way you’d admit you want them off now, not to the gorgeous troll straddling you. You’ve got an image to keep up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Shades, Black Romance

As rad as your red shades are, you wish you weren’t wearing them right now. You let Porrim strip everything else off you, but you never let her take your glasses. This isn’t the first time you’ve regretted it, but it’s no biggie. And obviously there’s no way you’d admit you want them off now, not to the gorgeous troll straddling you. You’ve got an image to keep up.

Porrim’s tattooed body is still clad in a black dress that emphasizes every curve of her voluptuous body, in sharp contrast to the your gray body that’s shielded by nothing except your shades. She never takes off that dress, not for you at least.

Secretly, you’d like to see Porrim without a filter right now, fully appreciate the artful lines of her make-up, the glint of her eyebrow piercings, the stark white of her sharp teeth - visible for just a moment as her tongue snakes out to lick her black lips. Arousal pools in your stomach as she slides a knee down the bed, leaning down, and moves her lips to your collarbone.

You watch her, envying the impressive cleavage revealed by her plunging neckline. As her tongue circles your own breast, drawing a spiral in from the outmost curve all the way towards the areola, you feel your desire pounding in your chest and throbbing much lower, your nook warm and dampening with impatience.

Porrim’s mouth closes around your nipple - damn, that’s not just her mouth, that’s her _teeth_ \- and you press a hand over your mouth. You aren’t some whimpering girly girl; you’re too cool to moan. It’s not about being shy, obviously; it’s just about being cool. Weakness isn’t cool.

But Porrim’s never thinking about whether she looks _cool_ , and sure isn’t right now, not with how her cheeks pucker when she relaxes with her teeth to simply suck on your skin. It drives you crazy that she doesn’t care. Her thick tattoos aren’t like anything in popular fashion, her dresses are too dark, and she’s so unabashedly feminine, but she moves with grace and confidence. It’s so snooty, like she can just do everything right without even trying. You try to look like you aren’t trying too, but she sees through it. At the beginning, it made you see spades, but now it mostly makes you feel naked.

Porrim looks damn hot though as she shifts again, this time dragging her tongue all the way down the gently convex surface of your belly. She makes a brief detour to your right side to kiss each of the three sensitive scars where your grub legs were. For the first two, you just close your eyes and enjoy the sensation, but with the third, Porrim’s kiss contains a hint of teeth as well, and you can’t stifle your masochistic shudder. You peek at her to see amusement sparkling in her eyes even as her mouth hovers above your skin.

As the sharp tips of her horns gently graze your chest, you momentarily consider grabbing them and forcing her face down into your groin. You don’t, though, even as you think you shouldn’t let her in like this. She gets you naked - literally - and keeps her clothes on and never lets you into her skirts. Of course she’s polite about it - painfully so, because Maryam’s _diplomatically assertive_ , as she puts it in, phrasing that makes you want to snooze before she’s two syllables in.

Luckily for you, it’s not much longer until she reaches the top of your groin where your bulge is still sheathed. As she knows from plentiful experience, it usually doesn’t pop out to play until you’ve had a little more direct stimulation, so she continues her way down. You stifle an embarrassing sound as Porrim's tongue slides between your labia. You rest your hands on your hips and slowly run them up the curve of your belly up to your breasts. Wasting no time, your fingers go straight in for your nipples. Even though she’s told you before that you can touch yourself, you haven’t really done so before. It’s about time you did.

Porrim pulls back slightly, tip of her tongue still flicking between your folds. Her eyes flit up your body until they meet yours. All she offers you is a half-smile before looking back down to your groin with unabashed pleasure. You roll your eyes and take your hands away from your chest, suddenly a little bit self-conscious.

"What gives, shooting me that look after blabbering at me about appreciating the joys of self-love?" you say, trying to sound light and not defensive.

"I think you misinterpreted it; I didn't intend for you to stop," she replies, glancing back up. "By all means, please continue." In between phrases, she gives you tantalizing licks. Your bulge stirs, beginning to emerge from its sheath.

"You’re gonna smirk at me then tell me not to stop?" You wince at how totally unrad it is that your voice jumps up way more than intended. None of it’s self-consciousness, duh; you’re just distracted by your kismesis's tongue sneaking up to explore the underside of your bulge as it slowly snakes out.

"I'm pleased you're finally taking my advice to heart is all.”

"Hey girl, you've got no evidence that my boob-grabbing’s got anything to do with your ridiculous self-confidence preaching!"

"Mmmm.” Porrim makes the sound around the tip of your bulge, which with some coaxing is now mostly exposed, stretching and coiling experimentally. She takes a moment to trace the bright, sensitive underside from tip down to the base before offering an answer. "When we started hooking up, you would never touch yourself, even though I explicitly told you I find it attractive and that you should feel comfortable exploring your own body if it feels good."

"What kind of square do you think I am? My body and I are on totally rad terms with each other. I never needed you to tell me how to handle it."

A slightly unpleasant emotion burns in the back of her head. Damn, you don’t want your kismesis think that she’s winning this conversation. This sort of shit’s why you hate Porrim. All this girls' - _women’s_ \- rights stuff, self-love and self-confidence, authenticity - Whatever! A cool girl has no time for boring theories. She’s gotta be out doing mad grindz and practicing her smooth movez.

_Yeah but then why are Porrim's words starting to get to you? And why are you starting to feel less caliginous?_

Even though Porrim’s mouth still feels as good as when they first hooked up, you no longer find yourself wanting to rip out her hair. When you run into each other, you still want to get pressed up against a wall and kissed and fingered, but you no longer felt a burning need to bicker every time she says something totally uncool but _possibly_ containing an itty bitty shard of truth.

Porrim draws her lips back again just enough to say, "If you say so.” Ugh, well _that_ makes you feel pitch. But before you can snap at her, she engulfs your bulge with her mouth. The words die in your mouth, melting into a moan.

As she gently sucks, her tongue dances with your length as it curls in her mouth. Shocks of pleasure shoot through your body as Porrim's lips reach its base, and she slides two fingers into your nook. At first, she rotates them, hitting every sensitive inch, before settling with fingertips facing down and beginning to curl.

"Damn!" you gasp, reaching again for your nipples. To hell with Porrim’s smugness; she’s too busy to make any snarky expressions now, and gently rubbing your fingertips on those sensitive circles feels _good_.

Your toes curl as pleasure flows through every inch of you, back arching as it rushes up your spine. You rub your nipples a bit more forcefully, running each nub between thumb and forefinger. Porrim works with enough creativity to avoid being robotic, but it’s still finessed efficacy. Her tongue traces ever-changing patterns on your bulge. As soon as you began to acclimate to one, the sensation subtly changes. Her fingers slowly press in and out of your nook, stroking your shame globes and pulling back, eliciting embarrassingly needy, definitely-not-cool noises from you.

When Porrim finally pulls the climax out of you, you pinch your nipples so hard they hurt as you cry out wordlessly. Porrim expertly keeps her fingers lightly pressed against the anterior wall of your nook, and you _feel_ your shame globes pulsing as genetic material streams out of your bulge into her mouth. With practiced grace, she swallows it all. Or maybe she’s having some trouble, you think dizzily, but if she is, you’re way too wracked by orgasm to notice.

Breathing heavily, you sink back as the intensity starts to ebb, leaving your muscles feeling like royal jelly. Your hips twitch when Porrim finally opens her mouth, letting your softening bulge slide out to curl up on your lower abdomen. You look down to her lips and see they’re smudged by a color hard to make out through the red glare of your shades, but no doubt the milky turquoise hue of your ejaculate. You’re struck by a fleeting desire to kiss those lips as she raises her nook-slicked fingers to them and sucks each clean with a sensuality that’s not lost on you even as you float in her heady afterglow.

Once she deems her fingers sufficiently clean, she meets your gaze. After a momentary pause, Porrim reaches out for your shades. You impulsively move to stop her, catching her hand as it starts to tug them off, the edges already pulled past your ears and resting on your temples awkwardly. You glare as she quirks an eyebrow, provoking a pang of irritation in you.

But it’s just a pang, and not enough to make you struggle as Porrim slowly pulls your glasses off the rest of the way. Your hand falls back down beside you as your eyes locked. In your kismesis’s long lashes, you see with a sinking feeling that it’s not hate burning behind them, but pity.

_Nah, maybe you’re projecting. C'mon, you’re totally loathsome, way too hip and cocky for that fussy rainbow drinker weirdo to feel anything but pitch towards._

Porrim’s constantly reminding you of how you try too hard, how you’re internalizing subtle Beforian misogyny. How you’re a walking facade, hiding your true face metaphorically behind your skateboard and literally behind your shades.

Your shades rest on the tip of Porrim's forefinger, carefully perched and just barely swaying. Nope, this bogus eye-gazing is definitely bordering on flushed. You can’t deny that Porrim's face is creased with thought rather than disgust, nor can you claim to yourself that you’re meeting her look with intense exasperation rather than sincerity. Neither of you is looking for a fight right now, not as you lay there, aware of how naked you are, aware of how poised she looks sitting between your legs in her gorgeous black dress.

_This can’t go flushed, and you know it, girl! You’ve got Mituna, and there’s no way you’re about to vacillate on him. Besides, even if you don’t hate her yet, you definitely don’t love Porrim. You’re just feeling soft in your post-orgasmic fuzz._

But caliginous feelings are supposed to deepen, not fade, when they’re returned and realized, as they have been in your relationship. You’re suddenly aware of your tongue pressed against your teeth, fighting to express something as the words evade you. When the silence breaks, it’s not you.

"When we first started talking, I was excited about our prospects.” Her forefinger’s still pointed up at the ceiling, bridge of your glasses balancing on her pale gray skin. “I thought you were one of the strongest pitch crushes I've had. But since we started this, it's become clearer every day this isn’t truly caliginous. I find you irritating, I detest your apathy towards issues that so directly affect you, and I think you're beautiful, but I'm not falling in hate with you."

“Yeah,” is all you can say. It hangs there, until she continues with words that are simultaneously a relief and a death sentence. But hey, it can’t be any other way.


End file.
